


Escapade

by TrevorPhilipsismySpiritAnimal (lazysatyr)



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: A little bit of plot, M/M, One Shot, Sandy Shores, Smut, Some feels, Trevor's perspective, implied past relationship, lots of crude language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6772342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazysatyr/pseuds/TrevorPhilipsismySpiritAnimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having a 'disagreement' with Martin Madrazo (and kidnapping his wife), Michael and Trevor have a little excursion to Sandy Shores to lay low. </p><p>Constantly overshadowed by their troubled past, the two attempt to rekindle some of their friendship the same way they built it the first time; on the road with a shared bottle of whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escapade

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place the day after the mission 'Caida Libre,' after M and T flee to Sandy Shores, while the player has business to take care of as Franklin.

Trevor was utterly sick of fucking his hand.

Perhaps that was why he was wandering through the dry streets of Sandy Shores like a stray dog searching for roadkill.

He'd considered looking for a working girl to help satisfy his palpable lust, but he found their usual haunts unfathomably barren. Ah well, he'd had those girls numerous times, and there are only so many chiding comments and visible cringes one can take before the fun gets completely sucked out of the game.

With flittering thoughts of pink, ill-fitting pajamas and curly red hair leaving him parched, he decided to wander into the only watering hole in a 50 mile radius, the Yellow Jack.

3 shots, 3 beers and 45 minutes later, Trevor had a flighty looking redneck trapped between him and the outer front wall of the dive. His hand was planted beside the younger man's head as he grinned devilishly into the other's fear-filled face.

"Please mister, I don't really want the crank **_that_** badly!" The younger man said, glancing desperately over the other man's shoulder toward freedom.

"Hey!" An unmistakable voice interrupted the tense moment as a car pulled up behind Trevor, tires crunching over the pebbles strewn across the wavering asphalt.  "I leave you alone for an hour and you're already terrorizing the locals. Some shit never changes."

"Oh, fuck you very much..." Trevor snarled, glaring over his shoulder at Michael. The redneck took his only chance for escape and ducked under Trevor's arm to take off sprinting across the parking lot.

"Rrgghh, get back here!" Trevor roared. Michael scoffed, watching him hesitate over chasing, but instead, his rugged counterpart stormed over to his rental car and slammed his clenched fist against the roof.

"Gahh, thanks M! Now who's gonna get my dick wet, huh? It ain't gonna be you..."

"Damn right it ain't. You'll live you horny old mongrel. Now get in. Let's go for a ride or somethin', like old times." Michael said, that ever-charming smile spread across his face, reflecting in his eyes even through his shades.

As much as Trevor resented the power Michael held over him, he'd missed that man so very much. He couldn't count the number of nights he'd spent sprawled across this turd's empty grave on both hands, nor the number of times he'd called hookers by his name for that matter. His face twisted in anger.

"Yeah, like _old times_!" Trevor grumbled, the last words spoken in childish mimicry. "Hey, if yer here, who's watching Mrs. Madrazo?"

"She needs watching? Last I checked, she was doin' your dishes and watching Mexican soap operas in your kitchen. C'mon, get in buddy, I need to drink away my sorrows... How do you put up with this rotten fish smell, anyway?" Michael continued, draping a wrist over the steering wheel as he gazed out the windshield at the expanse of pale, sun-baked sand and Joshua trees before them.

"Whattaya talkin' about, huh?" Trevor grunted, straightening to look all around him.

"Don't tell me yer used to it, T. I can't tell if this place smells more like dried turkey shit or rancid fish, but all I know is I've only been here 16 hours at the most and I'm already sick to death of it."

"Draw it in, Mikey-boy, it's good for ya!" Trevor said, drawing in deep breath, "That's the foul stench of the Grand Senora desert! Builds character!  Maybe it'll help ya grow another pair--you know, what with Amanda holdin' yers in her purse along with any remaining self respect you mighta once had."

"Oh fuck you Trevor, are we really gonna do this right now?" Michael said, tugging at a strap of his undershirt.  There was a fine shimmer of sweat forming across his brow. "It's too hot for this bullshit."

"Mhhh, you scared off my easy lay." Trevor said, scratching his chest thoughtfully through the moist collar of his musty shirt. "The least you could do is have a sense of fucking humor."

"If anyone _scared_ that kid you were feelin' up, it was you, Trevor." Michael scoffed, "You fucking dick-squeezer. And here I figured you'da grown out of it by now."

"Why don't you go be pathetic and miserable somewhere the fuck else, huh?" Trevor bit back, his brow lowering menacingly as he turned to walk away.

"Well, you know what they say, T, misery _loves_ company. Now c'mon buddy, don't we got some catching up to do or somethin' like that?"                                      

"Yeah, well as much as I enjoy reminiscing about the 'good ol' days,'" Trevor growled, his tone practically dripping with sarcasm, "I've got a mean case of blue balls right now, and you ain't exactly the kind to help a fella out."

"Fine Trevor, fucking fine." Michael said irritably. He heaved a defeated sigh and squeezed the steering wheel. After a split moment of hesitation, he called out again, "But hey, whoever you do lay... do me a favor and let 'em live to see tomorrow, alright?"

"I can't make you any promises, sugartits." Trevor sneered over his shoulder. "I'm gonna see where the night takes meh!"

Trevor walked up the road, his mind initially focused on the tantalizing thought of wet holes, but as per usual, Michael creeped back into his train of thought and took hold as he had his way of doing. Trevor was sick to his stomach that he wasn't over this. After all this fucking time.

God he hated that smug look Michael got when he felt superior. Trevor wanted to knock a tooth out of his skull every time the slippery fuck tried to make him jealous. It was a foolish game, Trevor was too smart for it, but thinking about it was starting to make him angry; the longer he thought about Michael taunting him, the more furious he got. His fists clenched with anger, his brow pinched with resentment. Michael probably laughed at him behind his back. He probably had been laughing the whole god damn time.

He didn't expect for Michael's dusty rental to pull along side him a few minutes later, derailing his thunderous train of thought. The electric driver window rolled down and Michael glanced at him from beyond the brims of his sunglasses.

"Hey, you sure you don't wanna help me drink this bottle of whiskey I just got?" Michael asked, his eyebrows going up hopefully. Apparently, he really didn't want to spend the evening alone.

"Ehh..." Trevor said, squeezing his junk contemplatively through his sweats. Michael's eyes rolled down to catch the casual  motion. One corner of the thin line of his mouth tilted upward in a smirk. There was a brief, reminiscent moment of forbidden intentions, and this never failed to pique Trevor's interest.

"Ugh, fine, you fucker." Trevor finally submitted, "How can I say no to that face, huh?"

He walked around the front of the car and climbed in the passenger's seat only to scowl out the window.

"So when are ya gonna give up the horny old creep thing, T?" Michael asked passively, as if it wasn't a slight.

"Hey, fuck you, alright? My dick still works, M, how about yours? Huh? Or is your boy as out of shape as you are?" Trevor said, reaching over to grab at Michael's crotch for effect.

"Ohh, go fuck yourself!" Michael snarled, shoving Trevor's hand away, "I don't think that's any business of yours anyhow."

Trevor scoffed and rolled his eyes, hanging an elbow out the window as he glared out into the desert.

The sun was beginning to go down, casting eerie shadows across the landscape. God he loved it out here... Endless dry hills, rich with natural beauty and majesty. In the distance he thought he spotted one of the many unmarked graves that he'd left scattered across the dunes.

He glanced over to Michael, laying eyes on the other man whom he had once known as his dear friend, noticing all the differences; scowl lines, crows feet, the tell-tale signs of 'dad.' Michael noticed him staring and gave him a skeptical look but couldn't resist a smirk.

Trevor had to admit, this felt pretty good--despite their quarreling. Long ago, when his loss was still a deep, festering gash in his heart, he had wished for just one last cruise with his beloved friend before saying goodbye forever. Funny how shit works out.

» » »

 

An indistinguishable amount of time later, when the sun sank low on the horizon, they sat together on the hood of Michael's car, staring out at the Zancudo river, the sky a blanket of stars. The waning bottle of whiskey passed back and forth between them as they spoke; an old tradition, something they did less and less of the older the kids got and the less time Michael seemed to have for Trevor.

Trevor was lost in nostalgic euphoria; He'd dearly missed being at his best buddy's side, shooting the shit as though they didn't have a single worry in the world, even when the State was searching for them for miles in every direction.

Even Michael seemed to be trying to relate with Trevor, which seemed unusual, even for a decade ago.  But maybe, Trevor theorized, being away from his paternal duties and husbandly pressures let him revert back to the friend he once was.

"And THAT's when I realized I had no choice but to cut his god damn tongue out."

"No..." Michael scoffed into the bottle before swallowing down a mouthful of liquor. The word was limp, as though there wasn't really any doubt. At this point, he was long past the initial cringe of whiskey.

"Yeah. Yeah I did, Mikey. The fucker had the gall to call my mother a whore--to my _**F** **A** **CE**!"_   He said, taking the bottle from the other, a hate-filled grimace twisting up his features.

"But your mom _WAS_ a whore, Trevor." Michael said, sneering. He was possibly the only person on the planet who was able to say such a thing to Trevor and still keep all his internal organs intact. "It ain't no secret."

"That's not the fucking point!" Trevor snarled, sitting up, he ran a hand over his forehead, pushing a few of his few hairs back out of his face.

"So... did you do it?"

"Of course I fucking did it, and I fed it to his fucking cat, too." Trevor said before taking the bottle and sucking down another pull off it.

"You're nuts, man." Michael laughed incredulously, lacking any better response. He had a drunken, knowing grin on his lips. He seemed to be beyond caring at this point, looking more comfortable than he had any right being.

"Yeah, and yer a fat old lying fuck." Trevor said matter-of-factly, "what else is new, porkchop?"

"Hey, c'mon. Can't we have one night where we aint tearin' out each other's throats? I just wanna relax... for one fuckin' minute."

"You started it, M. Just because I ain't afraid to follow through on my threats doesn't mean I'm a looney--."

"Alright, okay, I'm sorry. How's that, huh? I'm sorry." Michael said, raising both hands in submission.

"Whatever you say, M." Trevor resigned, staring off into the stars overhead. They were never as bright as they were up north, but tonight they were gleaming. "You've gotten real good at making that sound convincing, but I don't really believe it."

"You don't believe what?"

"That yer really sorry for anything you've done." Trevor grumbled, the alcohol preventing him from hardening his words.

Sarcasm. That's what he'd get in response, right? Good ol', Michael Townley, ' _fuck you, I do what I want_ ' sarcasm to sting deep and set him ablaze...

"That's not true..." Michael said instead, a little defensively. He sat up and straightened his grubby tank top so it wasn't riding up his stomach. "Honestly, I regret a lot of things I've done."

Trevor could feel Michael looking at him, but couldn't bear to look back to meet his gaze.

"I made a decision, Trevor. I had to work _with_ them or face losing my family--losing everything! And even though I made that choice, with every fiber of my being I regret abandoning my best friend." Michael said, sounding sickeningly sincere.

"You're so fulla shit." Trevor snarled defiantly, his hands beginning to tremble with anger and heartbreak. "You wanted out! You let me think you were fucking dead! You played me like a god damn fool..."

"Trevor," Michael said, his verdant gaze locked on the other, "You have no idea how hard I pined for you. And I couldn't even tell a soul about it."

Trevor felt a deep sadness in his chest, burrowed deep in his heart. He wanted to believe Michael, but everything he'd ever learned about two-faced people in all his years of drowning in two-facedness set off alarms in the back of his head.

"When I heard they ended their search for you, I was so relieved. I thought they'd get you too, man. I thought they'd do worse to you than they did to me."

"Nahh, see, I'm pretty sure you were glad to finally get rid of me, just like everyone else..." Trevor said, his gaze locked on the ground as the self-loathing set in.

"Lighten the fuck up, will ya?" Michael sighed. He leaned over to pat Trevor on his shoulder. "I told you, I had to make a choice and I made it. Once we were settled, I didn't know where you'd run to. It doesn't mean I didn't care about you."

Trevor had stopped listening and was callously sucking down alcohol to drown out the ache in his heart. Sure as fuck didn't feel like he was cared about. He slid off the hood of the car and grunted out a response that sounded like he was choking back rage. "Whatever you say, Mikey. Fucking-- _whatever_!"

"What are you--where are you goin'?" Michael said, losing his somewhat mirthful expression.

"I dunno, who cares." Trevor grumbled as he began to walk.  Once again he found himself filled with wanderlust, to be any place but here.

"Wait, Trevor, come on now." Michael said, slipping to his feet to grab the other's shoulder. Trevor lit up like a gas leak and spun around, fists clenched.

"Hey, don't fucking touch me, alright?" Trevor snapped, shoving a hand against Michael's chest to tear distance between them. He couldn't bear it. All he had mourned and suffered for years... All for what?

"I missed you, Trevor. I really did." Michael attempted, staring dauntlessly into Trevor's wild eyes. Trevor saw nothing but deceit in the other's gaze, his own vision beginning to cloud up with red.

"Stop fucking lying to me!!" Trevor roared, lunging towards the other threateningly.

"God damn it Trevor, can't you get it through your thick skull that I didn't exactly have a choice in this?" Michael boomed, truly raising his voice for the first time in their conversation.

"I slept on your grave. I left you fucking flowers. I wept for you! I told people you were a fucking hero!  And you laughed all the way to the fucking bank!" Trevor roared, getting more and more worked up as every tiny, stinging detail bit into his skin; every little thing that haunted his sleep and left his heart shattered and broken rushed forth at once.

He was a god damned fool.

It had taken far longer than he'd ever admit to get over Michael, and here was that same hideous scar torn open yet again. He wanted to claw the flesh off his left shoulder, but he wanted to gnaw the flesh off of Michael's face first.

"Give it up, Trevor! That's the god damn past, this is now!" Michael said sternly, seemingly attempting to take control of the situation.

"Fuck you! Fuck you Michael!" Trevor barked as he lunged for the other, a fist labelled 'FUCK' raised as if to strike at that flawless face.

Michael brought up his forearm against Trevor's chest in defense and deflected Trevor's assault, using his own inertia against him to throw Trevor back against the hood of the car. Trevor was strong, but not nearly the pillar Michael was. He hit the hood with a thud, in actuality, letting Michael have his way, but forcing his hand. The rum bottle hit the gravel with a 'clink' and skidded a ways away to be forgotten with only the dregs sloshing around the bottom.

"Calm down, T! Calm the fuck down!" He shouted, pinning Trevor with a hand to his sternum, a knee planted firmly between his legs. Trevor resisted, his fury left unquelled. He fought, but no matter how badly he wanted to hurt Michael, he couldn't ever seem to bring himself to actually do it.

"I hate you!" Trevor seethed through clenched teeth, resisting against the other's force.

"Yeah, I know you do." Michael said, his thin lips curved up at the corners in a taunting smile. He soon descended, bringing them nose to nose, staring into Trevor's sunken, hate-filled eyes. But after a lingering moment of silent tension, his pale eyes closed and he tilted his head just slightly to press a firm, tight-lipped kiss to Trevor's thick bottom lip.

Trevor didn't resist, in fact, he tilted his head back just slightly to meet him; a kiss had always proven to be more successful at shutting him up than a sock to the jaw. Trevor knew it.

Trevor felt a small, bloom of warmth in his aching heart. His hands grabbed Michael's biceps at either side as their mouths reacquainted themselves for the first time in ages. Their stubble bit and scraped as they shared a fierce, heated moment, but Michael soon pulled back.

"Do you forgive me now?" Michael asked slyly, his voice low but mischievous to match his grin.

"Fuck no." Trevor snarled and grabbed at the back of Michael's head, pulling him in close to crush their mouths together again.  Michael's sneer was muffled by Trevor's mouth, and his hand moved from the other's chest to brace himself against the hood of the car.

Trevor couldn't resist grinding his groin lewdly against Michael's leg as his dirty fingernails dug into the back of the other's scalp. It had been so long since they'd done anything like this, it left Trevor's head swimming. He had never found anyone he connected with as well as he did with Michael; the man made all the synapses in his fried brain go haywire. The rhythm of his breathing in his chest, his voice, his heartbeat were among the few things in life that brought Trevor any comfort, and like most things that comforted Trevor, were always far away; always unattainable for himself.

All the friction between them was getting Trevor hard, and when Michael finally broke their heated kissing again, he glanced down at the apparent bulge in the other's jeans.

"Hey, you're pokin' me, buddy."

"Oh, I'll _show_ you a pokin' porkchop." Trevor purred through his clenched teeth, his eyebrows pinching to match his lewd grin. The hand at the back of Michael's skull slid down to hang on his neck as his other hand worked on opening the button of his own fly. It was such a practiced maneuver for him, he had his dick in his palm in a matter of seconds, before Michael could even look away.

"Shit man..." Michael said, shaking his head, but before he could look down again, Trevor was working on getting his pants open too. Trevor's powerful hand slid into the front of Michael's slacks and down the brim of his boxers, taking Michael's halfy and squeezing it tauntingly before stroking a sigh out of him. It twitched and responded to his grasp, slowly swelling in response to the attention.

"I knew you wanted it, M. Yer good at resisting my charm, but nobody can resist the T-machine for long."

"Yeah, you got all the charm of a cat in heat, T." Michael said, but despite his snark, a visible blush came over his forehead and cheeks.  Trevor could feel it under his fingertips at the back of his neck too.

"And who took the bait? Huh?" Trevor taunted, continuing his slow, deliberate stroking of the other's tool. He was practically salivating, having Michael Townley literally in the palm of his hand, again, after all these years. He caught a glimpse or two, or maybe three of the other's length in his hand, and he reveled in the moment.

"So you got a raise out of me, whattaya gonna do with it?" Michael whispered gruffly into Trevor's ear, setting his fine hairs on edge.

"Well, if yer a good boy, I'll suck yer cock, but you gotta promise you'll return the favor...

"Yeah, alright." Michael agreed with a devilish grin, to Trevor's mild surprise. It struck him as odd that the other would fold so quickly and without resistance or even bargaining, since Michael loved getting his dick sucked, but rarely, if ever, reciprocated. Trevor was suspicious; either Mandy hadn't been taking care of him anymore and he was _real_ desperate, or he was planning to hand Trevor some shit excuse when he was done coming down his throat.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"You promise?" Trevor said curiously. He tried to imagine Michael going down on him. He had to admit, even the visualization behind his eyelids was alluring.

"Yeah, I promise." Michael said, looking just as ravenous as Trevor felt.

"Fat lot that means coming from you." Trevor sneered, giving the rock-hard length in his hand a squeeze. Michael panted, and he withdrew his knee to kneel against the bumper instead.

"Gimmie a break already..." Michael sighed, his eyes drifting down between them. Trevor left Michael's dick standing on its own, reaching down to drag his own foreskin back and rub the heads of their dicks together. This worked a jagged sigh out of Michael, but Trevor didn't hesitate to wrap his scarred hand around the both of them and draw their lengths together in tight. Michael had a bigger cock, easily an inch longer, and thicker to boot, but Trevor didn't mind visually comparing them, especially when he could stroke them together and make Michael act like he enjoyed it.

His hand groped their lengths loosely as they twitched and spasmed against each other, and Trevor felt heat rising to his face. His head rolled back and he dragged in a breath of cool night air. He'd yearned for this, but his hatred and spite was foremost.

"God, I need you, Trevor..." Michael panted, perhaps without thinking, and Trevor felt a little inkling of boyish glee, a feeling he hadn't felt in decades. His arousal was peaking; he wanted Michael inside of him, damn the lies and the consequences.

Trevor released his hold on their cocks and hooked his thumbs in Michael's belt loops on either side of his waist, soiling the fine cloth of his pants with his touch. He sat up, edging Michael back a step and found his footing before pivoting him around and forcing him down where he'd laid sprawled only a moment ago. Trevor did not hesitate; he pushed Michael's tank top up his belly and kissed and mouthed his way south, drawing in the phantom of the other man's cologne and whiskey-tainted sweat as he went. He shivered with anticipation, and didn't hesitate to accept Michael's cock into his mouth.

He sucked lovingly, and audibly, unperturbed by the initial saltiness of sweat. Michael's thin lips parted with a heated breath as he watched Trevor suck him deeper.

Trevor was good at it; Michael hadn't been afraid to let him know it before, and he had few reservations about going all out, especially when it was his _favorite_ dick he was sucking. Trevor's head bobbed eagerly in Michael's lap, his hands groping and rubbing up the other's thighs and hips before one hand committed to sliding between his thighs to cup and tease his balls.

"Oh fuck!" Michael grunted, almost as though the sucking caused him more pain than pleasure, but a soft hand came to ride the sunburnt back of Trevor's neck, urging him on. Trevor grunted around Michael's girth in response, glancing up at the other man's face to witness his enjoyment.

"Oh Trevor..." Michael moaned as his hand rode the peaks and falls of Trevor's rhythm. His eyes were screwed up tight, his head drifting back with a pleasured breath.  Trevor stared up at Michael's face as he began running his tongue along the underside of his cock, teasing the crossroads at the base of the head

After a moment of focused attention, he gazed up at the other man, astounded by the sight he beheld; he didn't know if it was the light of the moon playing tricks on his eyes, or all that crank he'd smoked earlier... but in this moment Michael looked like he did decades ago when they were just kids out looking for trouble, youthful and still in the grasps of adolescence, doing quite the same thing on a muggy summer night. He ran a hand up Michael's stomach, pushing his thin shirt up his chest, his own scarred and tattooed hand a stark contrast to the other's fine, unmarred skin.

"Oh I love you..." Trevor muttered between sucks, quite mesmerized by the vision he was having.

"Trevor..." Michael panted, his fingers curling in the hair at the nape of the other's neck. His head rolled backwards, gasping for air, "Ohhh fuck, Trevor..."

Hearing his name spoken in such a passionate way encouraged him. He didn't want this moment to end, but he wanted to show his love one of the only ways he knew how.

"Trevor..."

His other hand grasped the base of Michael's cock and stroked it upwards into his mouth, letting the head press and bump into the restricted confines of his throat. He could feel Michael's balls tensing in his hand, preparing to shoot his load, but there was always a delay and--

_"Trevor, for fuck's sake!"_

 

Trevor's eyes opened on the dim yellow light of his bedroom, the vivid imagery of his lurid fantasy fading with the fog of sleep.

He was lying face down in bed, his face in a puddle of his own drool and one hand numb from being slept on for too long. He gazed up wearily at Michael's annoyed face glaring down at him and wiped spit from his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Could you kindly move the fuck over so I could lay down too?" Michael requested, though his tone insisted.

Trevor reached a hand down into the waist of his briefs to scratch his balls and unsurprisingly, found his dick standing in its way. He rolled over, onto his back near the wall with a grunt, unabashedly stroking his lamenting cock.

 He was having a nice dream, wasn't he? What was it? Sexy... Ah, right! Fuck! Michael had promised him, too... Again!

Michael sat down where Trevor had laid, grumbling to himself. He was displeased to find most of his side of the bed already moist with Trevor's sweat. He tossed the drool-soaked pillow at Trevor and stole the ~~clean~~ dry pillow from under the other's head.

"Some fucking host you are." Michael said sarcastically, trying to get himself comfortable but finding it difficult.

Trevor's hand left his tented underwear and scratched his chest lazily. He opened his eyes on Michael's broad back, his dream still floating tauntingly around his head.

"Hey, well I gotcha drunk, didn't I?" Trevor grumbled.

Michael let out a long, drawn-out sigh in response.

Trevor was feeling frisky, so he rolled over on his side and placed a hand upon Michael's hip, his thumb pushing the other's tank up his side a little.

"Oh no you don't. Keep your filthy mitts to yourself, Mr. Grabbyhands. We ain't startin' this again."

Trevor scowled, his hand returning to his own cock. He appeased it with a squeeze and a tug. What was he supposed do with this? He knew it was all just a dream, but he still blamed Michael anyway...

He began to stroke himself off, a desperate sort of arousal smoldering deep within him. He let out a pant, trying to focus on getting off.

"Hey, come on. I can feel you beatin' off over there. Put it away, alright?" Michael grumbled, reaching over to turn out the light. "I just wanna get some rest."

"Oh come on, you're no fucking fun anymore! Bahh, what's a rub n' tug between two buddies anyhow, huh?"

"About a decade of psychiatric therapy when it comes to you, ' _buddy_.'" Michael sighed.

"Well, if yer already _on the horse_..." Trevor said in a dirty, provocative tone, relishing in the thought that he had left a lasting impression on the fucker. He palmed his engorged member through his dingy and slightly moist briefs.

"Shit T, will ya leave me the fuck alone so I can get some god damn shuteye already?"

Trevor scowled dejectedly, irritated by his sexual frustration on top of all the hate and hurt he felt inside. He slid off the bed and onto his feet, then fumbled around in the darkness as he dragged on jeans.

"Thanks, _bro_.' Michael growled as he got himself more comfortable in Trevor's place. "Oh, and if you even THINK about laying a finger on the wife, I'll choke you out myself."

"What kind of scum do you think I am, M?" Trevor said indignantly as he wiped an unidentified bit of scum off his hands onto his jeans. "Mrs. Madrazo is a classy lady! You think I'd disrespect a woman like her? Boy, you really are a great friend. I was right to call you my best pal in the whole world."

"Yeah." Michael sighed, finished with the bullshit.

Trevor was done too, crossing to the other room without another word and spotted Mrs. Madrazo lying on the couch. She was looking more comfortable than she should in such a bent position on such a shitty, makeshift bed. SHE should be the one getting a bed all to herself, not that greedy, opulent pig...

Trevor growled to himself as he turned to the front door, pushing it open with a palm to meet the cool, stale night air outside.

He came down the steps and gazed out at the dark horizon as he approached his truck.

Somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped a lonely tune; fitting for the emptiness he felt inside.

He sat in his truck for a little while, staring, mouth agape at the pinups he had stuck overhead. His mouth was dry, but this thirst he felt to his core.  In this moment, the thought of his hand was a little bit more appealing, but he didn't think he'd be able to hold back the tears this time.


End file.
